


The Northeast Manchester Public Library Book Club

by stormcorona



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Drarry, F/M, Fluff, book clubs, it's not that great but it's fluffy, just for the banters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormcorona/pseuds/stormcorona
Summary: Six years after the war, Hermione is much too busy to be chasing unsolved mysteries or trying to answer questions.That does not enter her mind when she sees him in the crowd.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 76
Kudos: 310
Collections: Best of SSHG





	The Northeast Manchester Public Library Book Club

**Author's Note:**

> Not super proud of this one, but I figured we could all use a pick-me-up. I may add more to it? I honestly wasn't sure where it was going at the end there, and I feel kind of disappointed in myself for not really plotting hardcore in this one. Whatever, it's cute, maybe someone will laugh or smile, that's all I want from my writing. 
> 
> Also fun story, I'm nonbinary and JKR is transphobic. So here I am to break her toys again.

Hermione was too busy to chase unanswered questions. 

That thought did not even enter her mind, however, when she saw him. Sure, his face was different. And his hair--brown rather than black. Also, he was clearly a muggle, checking his phone and moving easily through the muggle masses. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater, so she couldn’t see if the scars were there. 

But that scowl? That scowl was something she would’ve recognized literally anywhere. 

So Hermione did the only reasonable thing: she tailed him. 

When he entered a public library, Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. That was definitely consistent. Inside, he headed towards the bathroom, so Hermione decided to browse. 

She kept one eye on the bathroom, but found her attention drawn by a small area with a large circle of chairs. On a table beside one of the chairs was a stack of books, all of them the same title. She picked up a copy and was skimming the back with one eye on the bathrooms when a woman suddenly tapped her on the shoulder. 

Hermione turned around and was greeted by a positively beaming middle-aged muggle. “Hi!” the lady said. “Are you here for the book club?” 

“Book club--?”

“Yes! Oh, you positively must join in! I think you’d be a lovely addition, and a few seats just opened up!” Before Hermione really knew what was going on, the woman was ushering her into one of the chairs. “I’m Martha, and this month we’ll be discussing Titus Andronicus. Have you read it?”

“Yes, but--”

The woman’s grin was unshakeable. “Oh, perfect! I guarantee you’ll love it, we meet twice a month, afterwards we all go out for wine and baked goods and I’m certain you’ll fit right in!”

“Assaulting the bystanders again, Martha?”

That voice. Hermione closed her eyes to suppress the shiver. She knew that voice. That confirmed it. Also confirmed that she was about to get the verbal assault of her life. 

“Oh, not at all, Dorian!”

 _Dorian. Appropriate._ Hermione kept her head down, knowing that some of the hair that had no doubt come free from her bun would shield her from Severus’ immediate notice. She looked much different than their last meeting, much more businesslike, as befit her new position. 

“The young lady was already showing interest in our reading material for next meeting.” Martha leaned in and added, through gritted teeth, “Besides, we need more members after you chased away three of them last time! After making them cry!”

Although she didn’t look up to check, Hermione could practically hear his eyebrow being raised. “They should have endeavored to be less foolish.”

Hermione bit her lip to hide a smile. Good to know he was still his normal self. She risked a glance up at them. “Really, Miss, I wouldn’t want to intrude. I was just browsing.”

Severus, glamoured or polyjuiced as he was, turned to look at her. The intense focus of his gaze was unchanged, and there was no way her identity had escaped his notice. Her skin prickled beneath her blazer and blouse. She forced herself to ignore him. 

“I’m sure it’s fine--Dorian, why are you giving this poor young woman such a look? I really don’t understand you, she’s a perfectly nice young lady, I do say!”

Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself behind her occlumency walls before glancing casually over at Severus. Oh yes. That was the death stare. The Stare-That-Killed, which was still talked about in Hogwarts to this day. She offered him a nervous but polite smile, then turned to Martha. “I really don’t want to rock the boat, Miss, I certainly didn’t mean--”

“Nonsense!” Martha turned to her with a sickly-sweet smile. “You’re absolutely welcome here! Dorian is just like this to everyone.” 

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Hermione muttered. 

Severus turned on his heel, stalked to the chair precisely across the circle from Hermione, and sat down. He steepled his fingers in front of his face and continued to stare at her like a tiger watching its prey. She was reminded again of how feline and predatory he’d been in the classroom, waiting for a student to fuck up. 

“He’s… an interesting man,” Martha offered with a nervous smile. “You’ll stay, though, won’t you?” She leaned in, and through gritted teeth, added, “I’ve never seen him like this with anybody. I think he likes you.” 

“I doubt that as well, Miss,” Hermione replied. “But… if you insist, and if your friend--” Severus let out a derisive sniff here “--doesn’t object, I guess I could stay.”

“Shh, don’t say the word ‘friend’ around him, it gets him angrier,” Martha whispered, looking a little nervous. “We’ve got an entire list. I’ll give it to you if you stick around.”

Hermione laughed aloud. “Sorry,” she said, as her giggles subsided. “That’s just… incredible. I assume you continue to allow him to stick around for a reason?” 

Martha nodded at the pile of books. “That right there. Dorian funds the entire book club. Except for wine night, he never attends those. He does get us discounts on drinks, though, I believe he has some arrangement with the owners.” 

Trying to keep the twinkle out of her eye, Hermione replied, “Indeed? That doesn’t sound much like his scene.” 

Martha shook her head, and then took the seat across the book stack from Hermione. She leaned in like some sort of revolutionary conspirator or middle school girl trading secrets. “Don’t worry too much about participating if you’re not certain, alright? Most of the long-term members come here to just for the free books and the blood sport of Dorian tearing into whoever’s foolish enough to speak up during the meetings.” 

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh again. “Sorry,” she said. “Has no one really managed to keep up with him?”

Martha shook her head. 

A few more members trickled in. All of them pointedly avoided Severus’ intense gaze, which hadn’t moved from Hermione. She didn’t mind. She offered him an apologetic smile, and glanced pointedly towards the door, an offer to leave. He didn’t acknowledge it, so she stayed, instead picking up one of the books and starting to skim.

Severus was not supposed to be alive. Hermione had been there, trying to save him that day in the Shack, vanishing blood replenisher and healing potions into his stomach while he bled out. But there was nothing that she could do without an antivenin to Nagini--but, if anyone could’ve brewed up an antivenin, it would’ve been Severus. 

His body had vanished, and with it, any traces of answers. Hermione and Harry had stubbornly held out hope. Draco, Harry’s new husband, tried his best to be optimistic but wasn’t. That was how it had been for the past six years. 

Finally, Marta started the meeting. She had a list of question prompts, but started off broad. “So! How did people find _Titus Andronicus?”_

Everyone looked at Severus expectantly. And he continued to glare at Hermione. So everyone looked at Hermione expectantly. She sighed. 

“Who’s the new girl, Martha?”

“Oh!” Martha turned to Hermione. “This is, uh… dear, would you like to introduce yourself?”

Hermione offered a polite smile. “Hermione,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

Severus offered another derisive sniff.

“That’s one of the words,” Martha hissed out of the corner of her mouth. 

Hermione bit her lip to hold back a laugh. Oh, she’d missed Severus’ effects on people. As the thought crossed her mind, above her occlumency walls, she noticed his eyes narrow at her. So he was reading her thoughts, albeit surface level. That was fine. 

“Anyway, let’s not put the poor girl on the spot anymore,” Martha said, turning to her other members. “What did we think of Titus Andronicus?”

There was more expectant staring, to which Severus was remarkably uncooperative. Martha looked more and more alarmed by the moment. Hermione could scarcely keep from laughing--this was absolutely hilarious! She’d just been meaning to check on her old professor, make sure he was doing alright (physically, if not mentally) after the war, but instead she found him terrorizing a small but patient group of bookworms who’d gone to the lengths of compiling a list of words he didn’t like. Severus needed to get his kicks in somehow, Hermione guessed, and this was the most efficient way after scaring children. 

“It--It was alright,” an older man spoke up. 

Severus gave another derisive sniff, and Hermione hid her smile behind her hand. She could nearly imagine his comments. _‘Pick a fucking opinion and defend it. Don’t milquetoast around in the middle.’_

“I really didn’t like how they treated Lavinia.” That was a younger woman with mousy brown hair.

Another sniff. Hermione bit her lip, hard. _‘No shit, that was the fucking point.’_ She couldn’t even tell if these were her own thoughts or if he was implanting them, because she could hear them in his voice. 

“I thought it was very violent.” Another woman, older. 

Third sniff. _‘And water is wet, fucking genius.’_ Hermione was repressing her laughter so much that she was tearing up. It’d probably be perceived as fear by the rest of the group, which was fine. Why did she think this was so funny? Was this stress? No, she decided, it was because this was exactly how she’d pictured Severus existing if he was forced to deal with muggles for the rest of his life. 

“What about new girl?” asked the brown-haired woman, her eyes gleaming. Martha’s mention of ‘blood sport’ came to mind. 

“Oh, Lisa, I’m not sure we should put her on the spot like that.”

Hermione shook her head, pausing to think before replying. “Titus Andronicus is… an attempt to define ‘barbarism.’ Whether it’s a poor or good one is something else, but I think Shakespeare makes a few decent points, particularly about the use of women’s bodies as a place for men to project their ideas and stories onto.”

Severus spoke up for the first time. “Obviously.” He scoffed. “It’s practically stated with Lavinia.”

“But not just with Lavinia,” Hermione countered. “Tamora, too. She’s portrayed as a barbarian queen by the Romans, which both minimizes her political mind and ignores her emotional connection to her own children.”

“Again, obvious. Is there no insightful commentary to be found?” 

Hermione laughed. “I’ve defined ‘barbarism.’ Why don’t you define ‘insightful’?”

Several of the members gasped, and Hermione swore she detected a hint of a smile on the corner of Severus’ lips. “What, no rote recall of the dictionary definition?” he asked. 

“Well, the Oxford English Dictionary defines it as ‘characterized by insight,’ but that’s not particularly…” Hermione arched a brow at him and grinned. 

“Insightful,” he supplied. Oh yes, that was definitely a curve on his mouth. She wasn’t sure she oculd define it as a smile, yet, but perhaps a shadow of a distant cousin of a smile. 

“Precisely. The first definition of ‘insight’ that isn’t obsolete is ‘the fact of penetrating with the eyes of the understanding into the inner character or hidden nature of things; a glimpse or view beneath the surface; the faculty or power of thus seeing.’ Also from the OED, of course.” The members of the group were staring at Hermione like she was the next messiah. She shifted in her seat, mirroring Severus’ own pose of sitting low in the chair with her hands steepled in front of her face. 

Something sparkled in his eyes. “Very well. Read the first prompt, Martha. We shall do our worst.”

***

The next two hours was some of the most fun Hermione ever had. She laughed easily, and it seemed like Severus thought about laughing a few times, which was better than expected. His words were just as biting and sharp as ever, but Hermione found it easy enough to let them roll off her back and even tease back a little. She was careful to keep it gentle, and usually focused it around one of her own faults than one of his, using a bit of self-deprecation to wiggle him out of his shell. 

When the meeting wrapped up, Martha declared it was time for wine, and then pulled Hermione aside. “You must come back,” she whispered. “I’ll--buy all your drinks, or something. That was the best meeting we’ve ever had. What the hell did you do to that man? I think he likes you.” 

Hermione was practically dragged along to the wine and bakery by Martha. Halfway there, Hermione poked Martha sharply to get her attention. “Does Dorian normally come this far?”

Martha frowned. “What? No, never!” She glanced over her shoulder, to where Hermione had noticed Severus hovering behind them like a specter. “Oh my god, I think he must like you.” 

Hermione laughed. “No, I think he’s probably just trying to fight me more.”

“Have you not paid attention to Shakespeare, woman? Arguing is practically a declaration of love to some people.” 

“Oh, don’t say that word,” Hermione countered with a grin. “If it’s not on the list, I daresay it will be soon.”

They arrived at the winery and Hermione separated from the group to examine the baked goods. She was considering the different cake selections when Severus’ voice sounded from behind her. 

“The chocolate cake is excellent here.” 

She glanced over her shoulder with a grin. “Yeah? Alright, I’ll get a piece. They look rather large, though--you think you can finish it off if I can’t?”

His expression went blank for a bit, and he glanced towards the rest of the group. Hermione was willing to bet money that he was occluding either fear or anxiety. “I suppose,” he said, at last. 

She grinned and grabbed a pair of forks, gently placing one in his hand. He startled when they touched, and stared as she folded his fingers over the handle. She winked at him. “Consider it a victory feast.” 

A victory feast long delayed, Hermione thought from behind the walls of her occlumency as she spun on her heel and headed over to order the cake. 

The rest of the group had grabbed a long table, and Hermione and Severus were forced to sit next to each other on one end--which worked out well, as Hermione did indeed manage to subtly get Severus to eat some of the cake. He said nothing at all and interacted very little. Hermione was careful to only have one glass of wine, not wanting to irritate him yet. 

Martha absolutely insisted that Hermione join the club. Hermione managed to sneak a glance of Severus’ expression at the idea, and while his face was blank, it certainly wasn’t tense or grumpy, so she agreed. 

***

It was three months later that she showed up with one of her hands in a brace. She’d been dealing with some extra-awful fiendfyre earlier that day--some remaining Death Eaters were acting out, and she’d been the one to take them out--and the burn salve simply hadn’t done its job. 

That night, Severus excused himself early from the meeting and waited by the door for Hermione to come out. When they parted after wine hour, he handed her a small container. 

“Pea-sized amount, twice a day until it heals.” 

“Thank you,” Hermione said to his back. He’d already turned and left, more urgently than normal. 

When Hermione got back to her flat, she realized how similar the container was to that of a new potions and medicine company that had sprung up after the war. That explained why all their stuff actually worked. Two weeks later, the company came out with the exact burn cream he’d given her. 

***

Hermione missed her first meeting six months after joining the group. She received a series of voicemails from Martha that night, each of them more panicked than the last, saying that ‘Dorian’ had practically murdered someone in her absence--apparently Lisa had called Hermione a pretentious tart, and Severus had eviscerated her so badly that she’d run away to the bathroom for a full breakdown. 

At a cafe in muggle London the next day, a Severus joined her at her table. It was the first time she’d seen him outside of the group’s meetings.

“You weren’t at the meeting last night,” he accused. 

She shook her head, trying not to show how absolutely exhausted she was. Or how much she was wondering why he’d shown up, let alone how he’d found her. “Had to clean up someone else’s mess.”

He shoved a scone wrapped in plastic wrap across the table at her, and glared. 

“Oh, thanks.” She offered him a smile, and was about to take it when his hand grabbed it again. 

“How much sleep did you get?” It sounded like another accusation. 

Hermione blinked. “Uh…” She scrounged her mind for memories of when she’d last slept. “What… day is it?”

“Thursday.” 

Shit. She definitely hadn’t slept since Wednesday morning. 

“You’re going home,” Severus declared, standing up and shoving the scone into her purse. Hermione made a small cry of protest as he packed up her shit for her. “Where are we headed?”

Hermione sighed as she stood up. “It’s by Diagon. You won’t like it.” 

He made another one of those derisive sniff noises. “Then you’d best hurry.”

Curious, how he made an offer to help sound like a threat. Also kind of cute. 

She lead the way home, yawning all the way. He carried her purse, absolutely glaring down anyone who gave them weird looks. Once they were in her apartment, he dropped the purse on her counter and turned to leave. 

Hermione mumbled a thanks and grabbed a sheaf of papers, heading over to the couch to continue working. 

“No,” he said, snatching them back. “You’re going to sleep.” 

The thought of sleeping nearly paralyzed her. “Can’t.”

“Bullshit.” 

Hermione laughed, but it felt remarkably close to the start of a panic attack. His eyes opened a fraction in what she guessed was also panic. “Too risky. And I have too much to do, anyway.” 

He opened his mouth with a very familiar sneer, when he was suddenly interrupted by Hermione’s stomach giving a terrific growl. Something sparked in his eyes, and he stared at her. “When did you last eat?”

“I don’t think you’d like the answer to that question.” 

Frown lines deepened on his forehead, and he put the papers down on the table once more. “How the hell are you supposed to deal with the shit of the entire wizarding world like this?”

For a second, Hermione froze. She hadn’t been sure how much he was keeping up with the news. “You… heard?”

“God, no. Simply an assumption. I haven’t read a wizarding newspaper in the past six years.” Rolling his eyes, Severus went over to her refrigerator and opened it, bending at the waist to look inside. She was struck by how slender and elegant his form was, with the way his fingers drummed on the fridge handle. “You’ve always been a babysitter.” 

Hermione snorted a laugh. “Fair enough.” She tried to sneak another sheaf of papers, but a quick growl and wave of Severus’ hand had the parchments skittering away from her. Pouting, she leaned across the counter. He was determined, then, to not let her work until she slept. 

“Drink this.” He poured her a glass of orange juice and held it out towards her, still looking in her very sparsely populated fridge. “It’ll keep your sugars up long enough for me to figure out something for food. Do you ever shop for fucking groceries?”

Grimacing at the question, Hermione took the glass from him. Their fingers brushed, and Severus’ hand flinched away. “Sorry,” she muttered. 

He ignored her, instead pulling out a carton of eggs and some old ham. “Go nap or something, I don’t know.” 

Hermione hesitated, glass halfway to her lips. His fingers continued to drum against the fridge handle as he rummaged, and she couldn’t figure out if her fixation was due to lack of sleep or something else. “Severus?”

“Yes?” He tensed slightly. 

“Thanks,” she said, then headed towards her bedroom.

When Hermione awoke, it was dark. Fucking shit. Another day of her custom-made personal hell of self destruction. She trudged out to the kitchen, wishing it was time for book club already, even if she’d just missed the last meeting. Book club was the light of her life, even surpassing her weekly brunches with the Potter-Malfoys. 

A small plate sat on her counter, covered by another plate and emanating a soft warming charm. Hermione blinked at it. Had Severus actually…? She pulled off the top plate and her jaw dropped. Scrambled eggs, with pepper and ham, the scone Severus had bought her at the cafe, and what looked like a parfait of vanilla yogurt and fresh berries. 

Who the hell was this asshole and what had he done with her grouchy potions professor? Hermione felt her heart warm as she picked up the plate of breakfast, revealing a note beneath the plate. 

GO GROCERY SHOPPING OR I WILL, DAMMIT. 

***

Hermione also missed the next book club meeting. 

She ignored the buzzing of her phone and tried to focus on wrapping the healing gauze around the cursed scar on her forearm. It was difficult, primarily because it felt like someone had lit her arm on fucking fire and she was really tempted to amputate. The contents of her first aid kit were scattered across the floor, and so was she--or at least, that’s what it felt like. The gauze, which was normally like a refreshing flood of cool water, felt like putting a band-aid on the fire. She felt distant from the rest of her senses, vision a strange tunnel and all she could taste was cold iron, like her mouth was filled with bloody ice.

The pounding on the door was nearly indistinguishable over the rushing of blood in her ears. It wasn’t until Severus’ voice broke through her pain that Hermione realized that there had been knocking. 

“Hermione _fucking_ Granger, open the door right now or I swear to Merlin I’ll kick it down.” 

She tried to reply, but her throat was hoarse and her breath felt impotent. “Com… ing.” She only got halfway to her feet before the door blew open. 

The slamming of the door, open and then shut, felt like twin hammer blows to her temples. Great, Hermione thought to herself as she curled up, biting her lip to focus on something besides the dull throbbing of a magical exhaustion migraine. 

And then there was something warm and soft across her shoulders. “Why did I know I’d find you in a fucking state,” came a snippy murmur. Hands pried her fingers from her forearm, unwound the gauze, and then something soft and cool and numbing was being applied. 

Hermione managed a groan that she hoped sounded sufficiently… pouty, then let her head fall back onto his shoulder and buried her face in his hair, closing her eyes. Her nose and forehead rested against his neck, warm and solid. 

“Shh,” he said. “Only a few more minutes now. It should kick in quickly. Let me see your stomach.” 

Her stomach? Oh, that was right. Wincing, Hermione pulled up the torn and bloodied shirt. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathed, the air tickling her cheek. “How the hell…” There was silence for a moment. “You need to see a medic,” he murmured, even as he pressed a vial to her lips. She swallowed it down, and then his soft touches started flitting over her stomach. “I don’t know how deep that goes. And it’s… located right over your cervix.” 

Hermione decided to not think about that right now. She had enough sensory input to focus on with the aftershocks of pain and the warmth of Severus cradling her against his chest, healing the wound on her stomach. When he was done, a few more vials were presented for her swallowing, and she named them by taste. Fortifying potion, blood replenisher, and another healing potion. With shaking hands, she pulled his arms around her so he was hugging her, and just laid there, waiting for the pain to subside. Her head slowly began to clear, becoming more aware of the scent of sandalwood and herbs, the tickling of his hair on her forehead, and the rising and falling of Severus’ breathing. 

Then she heard the fireplace. 

“Hermione, the--” Harry cut off with a choking noise. Hermoine shifted slightly, cracking an eye open to look at him. He was just staring at her and Severus, open-mouthed. 

“By all means, do keep gawking, Potter,” Severus snapped, his deep voice vibrating from his chest and through Hermione’s back. She relaxed into it. “I’m sure Granger is more than happy for you to collect what thoughts you have, while she recovers from fucking bleeding out. Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I hadn’t arrived?”

Hermione reached up one trembling hand to pat his cheek. “Be nice to Harry,” she mumbled into his collar. “He’s your… god-son-in-law.”

Severus snorted something that she was pretty certain was a laugh. “I’m aware. I sent Draco gifts for the wedding.” 

“Holy shit,” Harry breathed. She felt him take one of her hands. “This is a lot. But first and most important, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“She’s not about to die immediately,” Severus drawled. “Which is a significant improvement from a few minutes ago.” 

“I’m fiiine,” Hermione reasserted, bumping her head against him. He scoffed again. She opened both of her eyes finally, and looked at Harry. “Did you get all of them? There should’ve been eight.” 

Harry nodded. “Collected, and put into the Thornbastion. I need to get back to… oversee the remaining Aurors. Draco will be by to check in on your progress.” He looked away, at Severus. “Professor, I know it’s a lot to ask, seeing as how you understandably don’t want anything to do with this anymore, but--can you stay with her?” 

Severus sniffed. “Yes, but don’t we have people for this? Minerva? Filius? Hell, Kingsley?”

“Kingsley’s dead,” Hermione murmured, and she felt Severus tense beneath her. “He died two weeks ago. Minerva and Filius have enough to do defending Hogwarts.” 

“Glad to see the wizarding world is still just as much a wreck.” Severus sighed, shifting himself so Hermione was more comfortable, since she apparently was… in his lap, between his legs. “What foolish or conniving sod’s the bloody Minister for Magic, then?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Hermione. 

She couldn’t hold back a laugh, hoarse and dry as it was from her still-dead throat. “I am.”

***

Hermione Granger was the Minister for Magic. 

Honestly, Severus was less surprised than just worried. It explained why she was so constantly tired for the past few months, and then the past two weeks of hell that she’d gone through. He pulled her tighter against his chest and tucked her head beneath his chin. 

It was a strange and long-forgotten feeling that had pushed him to action. The feeling that someone needed him, that someone appreciated him. A splash of color in his life.

He was a selfish man, and he did not easily give up things he liked. “Very well,” Severus said. “Potter, brief me.” 

The boy blinked, but to his credit, did. “Hermione was in charge of an internal probe to purge the Ministry of corruption and Death Eater ideology. She uncovered some major shit, especially in the Auror Department, and during her testimony in front of Kingsley and the courts, they struck. That’s when Kingsley was killed, and Minerva lost her arm. That was two weeks ago. Hermione was instituted as emergency Minister for Magic by unanimous Wizengamot vote, and then her and I and Draco have been chasing down the rogue Aurors.” 

“The final group was tracked down today,” Hermione croaked out, and Severus considered telling her to rest her voice, but stopped himself. As overprotective as he was, she was an adult and her perspective was doubtless the most valuable he could find. “They… hit me when I was alone.” 

“So she just flattened eight Dark wizards,” Potter put in, with more than a little pride. 

Severus allowed himself a smile. “Naturally.”

“They got me too, it wasn’t that one-sided,” Hermione muttered. 

Potter rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Anyway, they’re in our new prison, which is not staffed by dementors, thank Merlin.” 

That was a welcome change. Severus arched a brow. “What is it staffed by, pray tell?”

“Unicorns,” Potter said with a grin. “But not your cutsey Tom-can-eat-them unicorns. Highland unicorns, all stallions and lead mares. The types that enjoy goring criminals through the chest with their horns.”

“Lovely, and far more tactically sound,” Severus murmured, and Hermione shook. He glanced down, concerned, but she was just laughing noiselessly. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she murmured, her lips tickling his neck. Fuck, she needed to stop that. It was so… comfortable and yet exciting. It made him think about waking up with her in his arms, and that was not a good thought to be having. “Probably just having a breakdown. Harry, go round up the traitors. Send Draco to say hi to Severus.” 

That name. He hated it less than he’d anticipated, at least when it came from her mouth. It wasn’t just for anonymity reasons that he went by Dorian Prince nowadays, but… it was acceptable, if she was willing to accept his past. 

“I will,” Harry said, then nodded to Severus and stuck out a hand. Severus glared, but shook it. “Glad to see you’re alive, Professor.” 

Severus sniffed at him. 

Hermione laughed noiselessly again. “Don’t say that word. That’s on the list of words that makes him more pissed off.”

Harry blinked, glancing between the two of them. “What word? Professor? Alive? Glad?”

“All of them,” Hermione replied, smiling. He couldn’t see the smile, but he could feel it, nestled against the curve of his collarbone, giving him heart palpitations.

“O… kay,” Potter decided, then headed towards the floo. “Call if you need me. I’ll check in after I get them in holding.” And he disappeared in a puff of green. 

Hermione was silent and still, and Severus decided not to break that. Instead, he allowed himself the small luxury of running one of his hands up and down her back, feeling the curve of her spine, in as steady and comforting a manner as he could manage. He glanced down to check how she was feeling about it, but her closed eyes and blank face gave no understanding away. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, finally. 

“Comfortable,” she mumbled in the voice of someone more asleep than awake. “Sleepy.” 

Her eyes were closed, so he allowed himself a smile at her, brushing hair out of her face. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Hmmph,” she noised. “I’m comfy here.” 

“Your posture is abominable,” he replied. “You’ll hardly get any useful rest in this position.” Shifting, he stood and pulled her with him, carrying her bridal style in his arms. She whimpered a little as they rose, eyes opening, but relaxed once she noticed she was being carried firmly. She was worryingly light. Did she ever fucking feed herself? Severus swore that one of these days he was just going to fucking camp out in her living room and cook her meals and make sure she ate. 

He flicked the bed’s covers open with magic, then laid her down. And tried--failed--to stand up. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, and her eyes had shut again, so she hung half-asleep and ragdoll from his neck. Severus tugged backwards a few times, but unsuccessful. 

Gut churning, Severus froze half-bent over the bed, glancing between the Hermione on the bed and the door towards reasonable doubt and plausible deniability. He wanted to stay. He desperately wanted to stay, and he’d wanted to hold her while they drifted off to sleep ever since that first book club, but this was not about him. It was about her. She was exhausted and tired and he was not here to take advantage of that, no matter what her very insistent and handsy manner appeared to indicate. Appearances could deceive and Severus would not misinterpret her signals if he could help it. 

He tried to duck out of her arms, and was almost successful when she spoke. 

“Please don’t.” 

It was quiet, but not so quiet that he knew it hadn’t been his imagination. He froze in an equally awkward position, half out of the loop of her arms. 

“Please stay.” 

How the fuck was he supposed to say no to that? “Alright,” he said, kicking off his shoes and, after a moment’s hesitation, ditching his belt, too. That wouldn’t be comfortable and he did not want her waking up with bruises from the buckle. Also, he didn’t want to wear a belt to any sort of bed, even if he was just playing nursemaid. “Tell me if you want me to leave.”

“I won’t,” Hermione murmured, rolling against him as he slipped into bed beside her, her head resting on his arm and her entire body curling around him like a climbing vine. 

Her head was tucked against his neck and Severus swallowed hard at the feeling of her breath tickling the skin beneath the starched collar of his shirt. Her hand drifted across his chest, tucking itself underneath the hem of his sweater at his neck. 

Severus closed his eyes and tried to focus on anything else. 

It was impossible. Hermione was inevitable, he’d decided. He hadn’t expected to find her at the library that day. He’d known someone was following him, but he expected something more… trying to kill him, and not as much trying to check in on him. He had no idea how she’d recognized him. 

The strangest thoughts passed through her mind during that meeting. She had missed him. The very concept was foreign. She had enjoyed his dry, awful humor, and she recognized it as humor. It was more than food to a starving man, it was like reintroducing someone to a limb they’d lost--an entire new world of sensation to discover. Another half.

That phrase was horribly trite, Severus decided, as he allowed his hand to continue its soothing up and down Hermione’s back. But he didn’t know how else to explain Hermione’s… was it even an approach? He had no idea what his end goal was, let alone hers. All he knew was that he liked it.

Whatever it was, it was different and it was working. Contrary to popular belief, Severus had been approached by women over the years, thinking themselves fascinated with a dark and mysterious bad boy. That was not Severus. He was bad-tempered and poorly suited to company. He needed someone who could take his insults and understand him well enough to tease back without digging too deep. 

But far simpler than that, he needed someone to look at him and smile, not like they were trying to get something out of him or soothe their ego, but because they were happy he was there. That was a rare thing indeed, and Severus fully understood he did not deserve it, with the barbs he hurled at the world. Yet somehow, Hermione had managed just that. 

Severus wasn’t sure when exactly it happened, but he drifted into sleep after a time. When he woke up, he found it’d been a few hours, and Hermione was still snoring softly, so he didn’t dare move. Instead he just lay there, staring at her and trying to understand what the hell was going on.

There was the flare of the floo again. Severus tensed, which made Hermione murmur something and curl up closer against him. 

“Hermione?” came Draco’s voice, and Severus was suddenly hit with a very strong wave of fight or flight. “Harry said you needed help, and that I should be ready for a shock.” A blonde head poked into the bedroom and Draco’s eyes bulged so much that Severus was afraid they’d fall out. He stared at Severus, then at Hermione, and then at Severus and Hermione. “--Godfather?!”

“I’ve been trapped,” Severus informed him.

“Uhhhhhh,” Draco said, staring pointedly at where Granger cuddled him in a pile of curves and curls, “Yeah, sure.”

Severus rolled his eyes and sniffed, trying to not protest too much. “She’s been sleeping like this for the past four hours. Did you happen to bring anything to check for deep organ damage? There was a wound above her cervix I was concerned about.” 

“Yeah, hang on. Just gotta process this.” He withdrew into the living room. 

Hermione shifted against Severus’ side. He felt her eyelashes flutter against his cheek, and glanced down to find those big caramel eyes looking up at him. “Hhwho’s there?”

“Draco,” Severus explained, as the boy came back in. “Would you mind if he examined your stomach?” 

“Hhhh,” Hermione noised, and twisted a little so her stomach was exposed to the air. 

“That is definitely not enough room to work with, Granger,” Draco said with a far happier laugh than Severus had ever heard out of the boy before. “Come on. Let go of your utterly-platonic-I’m-sure-cuddle-buddy for just a moment here.” 

Hermione grinned wickedly. “He followed me home,” she said as she rolled over, allowing better access to her stomach. 

Severus glared at her. “I did not.” 

“You totally did. After that time in the cafe.”

He sniffed. Plausible deniability and reasonable doubt. “It was me dragging you home to take care of yourself, as I recall.”

“Merlin’s gonads,” Draco said as he pulled on a pair of gloves. “I’ve tried every trick in the book to see if my godfather was alive, when really all I had to do was get Granger to forget to eat for a few days and toss her into London?”

Hermione’s expression turned guilty. “It wasn’t that simple,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was going to, but I wanted to… ask him, first. He’s skittish.”

Ask…? Severus blinked. He was quite accustomed to his secrets getting handed out without his knowledge like pilfered candy on Halloween. Also, why were these two discussing him like some stray animal that wasn’t present?

“Don’t worry.” Draco smiled at Hermione, and Severus was struck with how much familial love was in that smile. “I understand, and I trust your judgement. I’m just glad he’s alright.”

“I am _right here,_ you know.”

She smiled a little, then winced as Draco poked at the wound. “Shit. That thing really is deep, isn’t it?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “I do occasionally know what I’m talking about, Granger.” 

“Mmm,” she noised, one hand reaching up to tap him on the nose. Severus felt his eyes cross reflexively to follow her finger, then he let out a soft grumble of protest at the tap. “In all regards except for interpretations of Shakespeare, perhaps.” She turned back to Draco as Severus spat out more unhappy noises. “I found him at a muggle book club. We’ve been attending for the past few months.” 

“Six months,” Severus replied around a yawn. “You started attending in February. The twelfth, to be precise.” 

“It is incredibly telling that you have that date memorized, godfather,” Draco replied as he waved his wand and cast diagnostics over Hermione’s stomach. “Look, I’m just saying. I doubt anyone else has ever gotten you to stop snarling long enough to cuddle you like you’re a giant kitten.”

“I am _not--”_

“He’s very cuddly.”

Severus glared at Hermione, and found her looking away with a strong flush on her cheeks. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You have awful taste. That’s thoroughly proven. I mean hell, you enjoyed _Romeo and Juliet,_ you uncultured heathen.”

“And Austen?” she retorted, shooting him a look through narrowed eyes. 

“Enjoying Austen simply proves one isn’t a fool.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know some fools how enjoy Austen. I daresay Lisa enjoys Austen, and she’s a fool. She likes it because of the romance, and completely misses Austen’s commentary on the politic and struggle of women in Regency era England, which I mean no judgement but that’s half the fun and aaAAUGH, FUCKING HELL DRACO!”

Severus was torn between spitting in defense of Hermione and staying calm in support of Hermione (and their mutual trust in Draco). In the end he settled on the latter option, if only because he was completely startled by the outburst and how tightly Hermione was suddenly grabbing his forearm. 

“Oops, sorry,” Draco said, not sounding sorry at all. 

Hermione let out a laugh, which sounded half relieved and half in shock. “What the hell was that?”

“Your cervix was severed, and healing wrong. I put it back together.”

Releasing Severus’ forearm (to his relief), Hermione reached over and patted Draco’s shoulder. “You’re so fucking lucky I love you and you’re a decent mediwizard.” 

“Hey! I’m above average.” 

Both of them burst out laughing, and Severus felt a bit like the odd one out, but it didn’t last long. In a moment, Draco had turned to him. 

“So, goddad-”

“Goddad!” Hermione cackled, then wheezed. “Ah, shit, that still huuurts.” 

“Goddad--” Severus frowned, winced, and tried to figure that one out. Finally, he just settled on a huff and a, “Don’t move then, Granger.” 

“Oh, did I mention that it’ll probably hurt for another week or so?” Draco asked with a pleasant smile. 

Severus arched a brow. “I am never letting you operate on me.”

“Aww, but goddad-!”

“Goddad!” Hermione repeated, and Severus put a hand over her stomach to stop the laughs before they started. 

“This is like herding headless toddlers,” Severus muttered, then rolled his eyes when Hermione giggled again. “Do you have any knockout gas or something? She needs another nap.”

“Hey, no I don’t!” Hermione said around a yawn.

Draco grinned. “Was that a yawn, Granger?”

“You saw nothing,” Hermione replied. “I’ll have you know that I’m the Minster of Magic and can punt your scrawny white ass to dragon-polyp-ass-fisting division, Malfoy-Potter.” 

It was Severus’ turn to laugh, an action that earned him a wide-eyed look from Draco. “Dragon-polyp-what-what division?”

“Dragon-polyp-ass-fisting division,” Draco repeated. 

“Yeah,” Hermione said, continuing on like this was an actual thing. She held up a fist in the air. “Polyp.” She moved that same hand to wave it like a wall in front of the place where the polyp had been. “Dragon ass.” Then she took her other hand, held it like she had a wand, and made a punching motion. “Fisting.”

“You’re kidding me,” Severus said. 

“Not in the slightest. It’s a new branch of our Care of Magical Creatures Division.” 

Draco nodded. “Yeah. There was a really bad dragon plague that happened a year or so ago, a bunch of dragons got polyps, and… well, nobody has a better solution yet.” 

“You are absolutely shitting me, this cannot be real.” Severus arched a brow. “Oh, and I suppose every time a Wizengamot member dies, a new one is selected from the polyps?”

Hermione broke into wheezes that sounded like attempts not to laugh. “Only the finest polyps for our ruling bodies!”

“Dear Merlin, now who’s the headless toddlers?” Draco rolled his eyes, and then paused. “Although... that would actually explain a lot.” 

“You’re all incorrigible,” Severus declared, as if he wasn’t just encouraging this. “Now, Hermione, if you’re not sleeping you need to eat something. Draco, what is she allowed to have?”

“First name basis, how spicy!” Draco sing-songed, and then dropping the act as quickly as he started it. “I dunno, probably something really bland and fucking awful, like oatmeal.” 

Hermione groaned loudly. 

“Stew?” Severus asked, arching a brow. 

Draco screwed up his face. “I’ll go up to soup, take it or leave it.” 

“Deal,” Severus replied, then extracted himself from Hermione (much to her verbal displeasure) and then helped her to her feet. He wasn’t sure how much assistance she’d need, so he kept a hand hovering near her back as he escorted her into the kitchen, Draco following and making all manner of faces. “Draco, if you keep that up, I’m disowning you.” 

Draco cackled, showing that he was not at all threatened by it. Severus grumbled.

“I swear, you leave for a few years and suddenly nobody’s afraid of you anymore,” he muttered, helping Hermione into a stool at the breakfast bar. “Decades of hard work terrorizing teens, all wasted.” 

“Hard to be scared of you with how much the press has whitewashed you into a misunderstood antihero,” Draco said, putting the back of his hand to his forehead in mock drama. “That and the Order of Merlin.”

“Oh dear fuck,” Severus muttered, as he pulled open Granger’s fridge. There was still absolutely nothing there. “Granger. What the fuck did I tell you about grocery shopping?!” She had a decent kitchen, if only she’d use it.

“Ugh,” she said, sprawling forward over the counter, her curly hair exploding outward in a puddle. “I didn’t have time around reorganizing the Ministry to effectively counter all of the dragon polyps.” 

Severus disguised a laugh as a cough. “That’s still completely fake. And I swear, one of these days I’m just going to camp out in your living room and force you to eat.” 

Hermione groaned again.

Draco waggled an eyebrow, coming over to stand with his hands on his hips beside Hermione. “For free?” he asked Severus. 

“What?”

“Would you feed her for free?” Draco repeated. 

Severus frowned at him. The wide, mischievous eyes said that this was a trap, but Severus couldn’t see how it was. “Uh… yes? Seems a strange thing to charge for.” 

“Then the job title you’re looking for, goddad-”

“Goddad!” whispered Hermione. 

“-is _spouse,”_ Draco finished in a conspiratorial stage whisper, nodding sagely. 

Severus rolled his eyes. “I knew disappearing for six years was the right decision. Now make yourself useful and conjure some food from that massive Malfoy kitchen.” 

“Oh, fine, you big softie. Ingredients or meal?”

“Doesn’t matter, just bring enough that you and Potter can eat if you want.” 

Draco paused, and then his eyes lit up and Severus was reminded of a much younger, toddler Draco. “Seriously? Merlin, it’s been years since I had your chicken noodle soup, you can’t get out of feeding me it now.” 

Severus frowned at him. “My chicken noodle soup?”

Nodding, Draco stared at Severus like he was the daft one. “Uh, yeah? You know, the soup that you always made when I was upset at dad and Floo’d to your house to hide? Or that time I ran and took refuge at your place for like, a solid three days while mom and dad had the row of their lives?” Draco raised both his eyebrows, flapping his arms like this should be obvious. “That chicken noodle soup? Ringing any bells?”

It seemed like Draco was just describing his normal cooking. He arched a brow. “So, regular chicken noodle soup.” 

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes, dropping his arms to his side. “For you, maybe. All I’m saying is you’re not allowed to die again until I get my hands on that recipe.” 

With that, he turned on the spot and vanished with a crack. 

Severus froze, staring at where his godson had just been, until he was interrupted by Granger giggling. He arched a brow at her, where she still rested her head on her folded arms, watching him with those gorgeous honey brown eyes. “What?”

“You big softie,” she said. 

With a scoff, Severus rolled his eyes and turned back to her fridge, bending over to see into it better, and pointedly ignoring the strange flutterings of his intestines as she smiled at him. “You’re delirious from pain.” 

“Softie.” He heard her let out a tremendous yawn, but he did not look over, instead finding some scraps of vegetables and pulling them out of the fridge for inspection. “He missed you. Maybe now he’ll shut up about ‘my godfather would always do this’ and ‘my godfather always said that.’ It was getting a bit much.” 

Severus froze, then sighed, shutting the fridge door. “I see.” 

“Don’t blame yourself,” Hermione murmured, and he glanced over his shoulder at her. “I think if anyone understands why you left, it’s Draco.” 

Arching a brow, Severus considered. A past Severus would’ve snapped at her about assuming what she couldn’t know. But that was no longer him. “And why is that?” he asked, instead. 

Her lips quirked into a little grin. “To avoid the incessant hassling of journalists.” 

He burst into a laugh, and was still laughing when the fireplace flared again and Draco and Potter stepped through. Potter was staring at him like he was a unicorn with two heads that farted rainbows, and Draco was just grinning like a lunatic. Both of them had arms of ingredients. Potter actually had like three boxes of… something. 

“I couldn’t remember what you used, so I brought the entire spice cupboard!” Draco declared. 

“Please help me,” Potter wheezed from beneath the load. 

Severus considered the request, then rolled his eyes as Hermione laughed and floated two of the boxes out of Harry’s arms and onto the counter. Draco came over with the bag of groceries and set it out for Severus, who began to unpack them and examine each of them closely. 

“Okay, Harry, now you need to go watch him,” Draco said, leaning over and pecking his husband on the cheek. “So you can make this.” 

“Dear lord, Draco,” Severus murmured. “You are spoiled rotten.” 

Harry heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Yes.” He came over and rolled up his sleeves. “Let me know if you want any help, Professor, or if you’d rather I just stay out of your way.” 

Severus barked out another laugh. “Take a wild guess, Potter,” he murmured as he found the cutting board and a good knife. After casting a sharpening charm, he began to chop vegetables. “Draco, go… find some suitable wine or something.” 

“Thought you’d never ask, goddad. Come on, Harry.” 

“Aren’t I supposed to be--”

“He's just cutting ingredients, if all those years in potions class didn't teach you how to do that another night won't help. I’ll ask him later,” Draco said, dragging Harry away from the counter. “Besides, he needs some alone time with your sister, so they can confess their love.” 

At that, Hermione looked up and shot a glare over her shoulder. “Malfoy, you meddling murtlap-”

A poof of floo powder, and they were gone. 

Severus sighed. “That boy needs psychiatric help.” 

“No kidding,” Hermione murmured. He was aware of her gaze on him, those golden eyes watching, wide and guileless, as he diced vegetables. “I should’ve guessed you’d be just as good at cutting food as you are with potions ingredients. Do you cook often?”

He allowed himself a small smile of pride at the mention of his cutting skills. “Usually. A meal at home is less risky than eating out.” He slid perfectly diced carrots into a bowl, and then moved on to celery. “I did go to extremes to not be noticed, you know.” 

At that, she glanced away. “I _am_ sorry about that.” 

It didn’t take much thought for him to murmur in reply, “I’m not.” 

She glanced up at him, and flushed. “Draco asked Harry and I to keep our eyes out for you, but… honestly, that didn’t even come to mind.” She propped her elbow on the counter, and rested her chin on her palm. Her voice grew softer, more thoughtful. “I just had to know that you were alright.” 

Severus hummed a chuckle as he diced celery, waving a hand to get assorted pots on the stove, for the soup broth and the noodles. “You and your lost causes, Granger. It’s no wonder you ended up working in the Ministry, the greatest lost cause of all.” 

She burst into laughter, then flinched and stopped. “Fuck. You’re not allowed to be so witty when Draco’s just rearranged my insides.” 

Grinning a little without looking up from the vegetables, Severus replied, “Oh, yes. I’m sooo sorry.” 

“How do you manage your potions company, then?”

She _knew?_ Severus had given her one damned prototype, and she’d figured out the exact company he headed. He hesitated for a moment, before his hands automatically resumed their mechanical chopping. He was about to answer when she interrupted him. 

“Sorry. That was nosy. I shouldn’t have. You don’t have to answer that.” 

He shook his head. “Polyjuice, mainly,” he replied. “Polyjuice and Minerva McGonagall.” 

Hermione’s eyes lit up at the mention of Minerva. “Oh, she knows? Thank goodness,” she breathed. “She was always very fond of you.” 

“Yes, the old cat’s unusually soft after she realizes she was completely wrong about your loyalties during a war,” he replied nonchalantly, giving Hermione a warning look as she laugh-wheezed again. “There were many apologies. I love her dearly, obviously.” 

“I’m glad,” Hermione replied, beaming at him so hard it made him roll his eyes. “So your life is now potions-making, cooking, and scaring the shit out of muggle bookworms.” It was his turn to laugh. “How terribly cozy.” 

“And a little hut on the seaboard,” he finished. “You should come by sometime, the fresh air does wonders for stress.” He was pouring celery into a bowl, and froze when he realized what he’d just offered. A chunk of celery fell to the countertop. “I mean, if you want to, if it’s-”

She stood, walked around the counter, and very carefully wrapped her arms around him, hugging him from behind. “I’d love that.” 

Severus could feel his heartbeat take off like a poorly trained thestral. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relaxing into her grasp and leaning his head over to rest against hers for a moment. Severus was worried that touching her when she wasn’t pain-addled would be awkward for her, or that she wouldn’t welcome it. This was… good. 

“I will need to move at some point, you know,” he warned her, as he pulled out some fresh parsley and began to chop it. 

She hummed and pouted. “You sure you can’t get Draco or Harry to do the actual mixing bits?”

“I doubt Potter has gotten any better at following instructions in the past half-decade.” 

Another laugh, but this one was softer, and he noticed how she braced her stomach against his side to keep it from moving as much. “He really hasn’t.” She paused, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you.” 

Severus arched a brow, enjoying the feeling of being wrapped in warm witch, the kitchen lights suddenly a glowing golden and the twilight of London entirely too beautiful in the apartment around them. “For?”

“Letting me stay.” 

With a scoff, he pushed the parsley into another bowl, and pulled out the chicken breast. “Please.” 

“I’m serious, Severus.” 

He turned and smirked at her. “I figured you’d either get bored, or I’d finally land a good hit and you’d run off crying.” 

She propped her chin up on his shoulder. “How’s that going for you?”

“Mm, well, seeing as how you have lost absolutely all sanity as well as all taste over the past few years, I may have to change tactics.” 

With a soft laugh, she squeezed him lightly. “Good luck with that. Although, I do have to say, the time you bought me a scone was quite intimidating.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“And I was absolutely quivering in my boots when you forced the establishment to put all my drinks on your tab,” she continued. “Oh, and breakfast? I have never seen anything so terrifying as a home-cooked breakfast and a threat to do my grocery shopping.” 

“Hush, witch. I’m very scary.” 

“I did miss seeing you look like yourself,” she added, quietly, her voice nearly a whisper. Severus swallowed. Her breath was tickling his neck. “Dorian’s pretty enough, but I missed you.” 

He ignored his flush. “As I said: lost all sanity and taste.” 

She laughed breathily again, and the Floo flared. Draco was returning with Potter in tow, as well as a bottle of very expensive looking wine. 

“Right, so you two getting married then?” Draco asked as he came over, placing the wine on the counter. He and Potter sat themselves down on the barstools. 

“Dear lord,” Severus muttered. 

“Malfoy, remember what I said about polyp duty.”

Severus shook his head, waving a hand to salt the noodles’ water. “That’s still fake.” 

Potter groaned, rubbing his head. “I wish it were fake.” 

With a grin, Hermione turned to Severus, as much as she could while still hugging him from behind. “He swapped my shampoo for static-ifiying potion one time. He got polyp duty.” 

Severus snorted a very undignified laugh. “Serves him damn right.” 

“Yeah, I come home and Harry is on the floor, absolutely smashed, mumbling about popping and how he needs me to obliviate him.” Draco gave a lopsided grin. 

“So of course my husband, you know, the guy I married, just laughs at me.” Harry shook his head. “My sister, and then my husband. Betrayed by the two people I love most.” 

Looking up at the boy’s mock defeat, Severus arched a brow. “Karma works in mysterious ways, Potter,” he said. “And her name is Hermione.” 

***

How many things could you move into someone’s house before you were considered ‘living together’?

Severus never thought he’d have to concern himself with the technicalities of relationships, but two weeks after the night he’d broken into her apartment to heal her, he’d taken up a semipermanent residence. And it wasn’t in the living room, either. 

There was a chill in the air as they approached the library, Hermione’s arm linked with his. It was strange, how… easy it was to accept her physical affection. The cliche was ‘like riding a bike,’ but Severus had never learned. His family had never been able to afford one, and although Lily had attempted to teach him, his limbs were a little too long for her pink tasseled princess bike. 

How little he thought of Lily, nowadays. 

Hermione yawned tremendously as they made it to the circle of chairs for the book club. He shot a glance at her. “Yawning? How much bloody sleep do you need, woman?” He could feel the other attendees’ eyes on him, but that was normal. They always looked at him like that. Severus guided them over to one of the couches and, with a few gentle touches, took her coat and sat down beside her, all without interrupting her poking fun at him.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “It’s not my fault I have a high-stress job and someone steals the covers.” 

Severus glared at her while he took off his own jacket. “You had better be talking about your atrocity of a cat.” Severus was the one who’d woken up three times in the past week freezing his sorry ass off. 

“Be nice to Ichapawd Crane!” 

“If that cat touches my shit, the horseman won’t be the only thing that’s headless.”

Hermione glared murder at him, before turning to the group. She froze, blinking. “Uh… hi?”

Severus turned from watching her, realized everyone was silent and staring, and his gut cinched tight. This felt… stressful. Familiar. 

It probably didn’t help that last meeting, he had attempted to slaughter three club members within fifteen minutes of Hermione not arriving. Then he’d stormed out to go find her. And now they were arriving, arm in arm, and he was being nice to her. 

For a man who’d lived alone for the overwhelming majority of his forty-six-year life, everyone really was keen on his romantic dramas, weren’t they? 

Shit. Hermione wouldn’t want to be seen being affectionate to him. No one really did, if he was being honest, and he’d long stopped blaming them. Even if he was bitter. She’d probably decry him, move seats, stop talking to him--

“I assume you didn’t tell them anything?” 

Severus startled from his anxious spiral. “What?” 

She reached over and patted his knee. “I assume you didn’t tell them anything. Last meeting.” 

His eyes darted between her face and her hand on him, and he shook his head. 

Hermione smiled and turned to the rest of the group. “I apologize for not attending for a few meetings. I had… some health emergencies, and some stressful weeks at work. Dorian has been invaluable to me during my recovery.” 

“You’re--?” Lisa squeaked. The mousy woman gestured between the two of them. For once, Severus felt as lost as she was. 

Tilting her head to the side, Hermione frowned. “Elaborate, please?”

“--together,” Lisa managed. 

Hermione shrugged. “I suppose, if Dorian agrees to it. I think if given enough time I could trick him into marrying me.” 

If _he_ agreed to it? Trick _him?_ The hell was she on about? Severus bobbed his head up and down in as emphatic nod he could manage without serious brain damage. 

Martha broke the tension of the air with a laugh. “I told you he liked you!” she hissed conspiratorially at Hermione. 

That night, during wine and cake, Hermione fell asleep against his shoulder. Severus sighed, ignored the pointed looks of many of their fellows, and carried her to the apparition point. 

As he tucked into bed beside her, she stirred. “Severus?” 

“I’m here.” He scooched himself closer, and enclosed her in his arms. She snuggled against him.

“Thank you,” she said, her breath warm against his neck. 

In the darkness, Severus frowned. “For?”

“Letting me stay,” she whispered. “That first day.” 

Severus grunted. “Don’t be a fool, Granger. You’re the only good thing about that damn club.” 

He could feel her smile more than see it in the darkness. “Grump. Be nice or I’ll put you dragon polyp ass-fisting duty.”

A snort of laughter escaped him before he could wrangle it. “And the club thinks I'm the one to be scared of. Tyrant.” 

Her smile turned smug. It was a hard sensation to feel, exactly, especially given that his sensation in his neck wasn’t as much as it used to be, but Hermione practically exuded smugness at the moment. “Silk over steel, my Severus.” 

He made a noncommittal noise. “Yours, huh?”

“Yes.” 

WIth a dramatic sigh, Severus settled himself down and prepared for many long nights of getting the covers stolen and then waking up to curls actively attempting homicide. “Well… if you insist, I suppose.”

**Author's Note:**

> support trans creators <3


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